Unexpected Attraction
by KassyMalone
Summary: Some things in life are certain - one of those things is that both of the Italy brothers are terrified of England. It's been a long time since they were at war, but still - he's scary! Forced to spend time together during a diplomatic visit, Italy discovers that being scary might not be such a bad thing, but the object of his affections may take some convincing...
1. Chapter 1

So I came across a ship I had never considered the other other day, and well... hijinks ensued. This is just how I imagine it going down. I hope you lovers of rare ships enjoy!

* * *

**Unexpected Attraction.**

England sighed, shuffling his papers away into his briefcase. There was an important meeting this week between the British and Italian governments, which meant he would have to babysit the macaroni brothers for a few days. What on earth was he going to do with them? The weather was too miserable to play football, he couldn't take them out to dinner without them complaining, and British women were liable to punch them in the face (the phrase 'battleaxe' was born here, afterall). It didn't help that they still shook like a chihuahua with a fever whenever they saw him – seriously, how long had it been? Stupid cowardly morons... He wasn't looking forward to this. At least they weren't staying in his house.

He got to the doors of Parliament just as the Italian delegation arrived – the bastards had bloody sharp suits for politicians. Who were they trying to impress, looking so fancy? Wankers. However, he put on his best professional smile, greeting them properly like a nation should. He spotted the macaroni brothers with their boss, looking less than pleased and talking with their hands, like always. Resigning himself to fate, he went over to say hello, groaning internally when the brothers immediately started quaking in their fancy shoes.

"Good afternoon." he greeted, annoyance more obvious in his voice than he would have liked "Glad you made it here in one piece. How was your trip?"

"Good, thank you, Mr England, sir." Italy said very quickly.

"Yes. Fine. Very good." Romano agreed.

Oh, for fucks sake... The politicians disappeared, chatting and joking, into the building. Normally England would have followed them, but if they wanted to get any real work done then it was best to keep these two out of the way, hence his current assignment. He forced his professional smile back on, which only seemed to make them shake more.

"It's getting on, so how about we get some lunch?" he suggested "We've had some great restaurants open around here lately."

They both went very pale, pursing their lips like he was trying to poison them as they nodded their heads with great reluctance. This was going to be a long few days...

* * *

This was the absolute worst! Why did they have to come to Britain?! It was cold and wet and the food was terrible and the girls were violent and they had to deal with that scary blond fucker! He was even scarier when he smiled! What was he planning?! What kind of horrors did he have in store for them this time around?! Last time they were in the country he took them to the Tower in London – the most haunted frickin' place in the whole damn world full of ghosts and horrible stories and weird noises and IT WAS HORRIBLE AND THEY DIDN'T LIKE IT AND OH GOD WHAT WAS HE PLANNING THIS TIME?!

"Stop shaking, you damn coward." Romano ordered his brother, ignoring the fact that he was shaking just as much "This is a diplomatic meeting, there's nothing to be scared of!"

"They put baked beans in everything here." Italy whimpered "Even pasta..."

They both jumped as England returned with their drinks, putting on that creepy smile of his as he put the tray on the table.

"The food will be about 20 minutes." he reported "You know, I was a little worried about the weather, but it's brightened up nicely, hasn't it?"

"It's cold like a Nordics ballsack." Romano swore before he could stop himself.

They both flinched. It took Britain a moment to respond, turning his cold green eyes on them.

"Is that so?" he responded, voice frigid and scary like the psycho that he was.

"Not that that's bad!" Italy tried to respond, shaking his hands desperately "It's refreshing even! Like a cool breeze in the summer! Or an ice-cold shower when you've got a raging boner!"

"Shut the hell up, you weirdo!" Romano swore, going scarlet at his brothers mindless rambling "To think I have to miss the movie for this shit..."

"Movie?" Britain asked.

Aw shit. Romano regretted opening his big mouth, his brother glaring at him in the 'what have you done?' fashion – they last thing they wanted was to get up close and personal with the second scariest fucker after Russia... However, it was too late now.

"W-we wanted to go see a movie this week." Italy explained, eyes on what passed for coffee on this god forsaken isle "It won't be playing by the time we get home. We've been waiting months for this movie, and now we can't see it. It kinda sucks."

"Oh? That's a shame. What movie was it?"

"That one with the haunted hotel." Romano told him "A lot of reviewers have said it's pretty good."

England smirked, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Really?" he chuckled "I didn't think you two would like movies like that."

"Movies aren't real, so it's fine." Romano answered "Not like those damn actual haunted hotels which you have in droves, I'm sure."

"Well..." England said thoughtfully.

They both flinched. Oh dear god, he wasn't going to take them to a haunted hotel, was he?! The thought made them both quake in fear, especially as England seemed to come to a decision.

"I think that movie is still playing here." he admitted "If you like, I could find a theatre and we could go after lunch."

"Eh, really?!" Italy immediately perked up "We could still see the movie? That's great!"

"You're kidding me?" Romano agreed "That'd be like the best possible thing to do right now!"

"Well, that's settled, then." England smiled, a little less scarily than before as he pulled his phone out of his pocket "I'll get the times. Hopefully it isn't showing too late."

* * *

Thank god, something to keep these two quiet. Going to the movies seemed to excite them enough that they stopped being afraid of him, going back to their incessant chatter and nonsense noises throughout lunch. There was a few hours until the movie, so he took them shopping to kill time – they both had an odd fascination with Wedgwood, especially the antique collections, and seemed abnormally thrilled to discover Poole Pottery.

Tired of the constant jibes at his food, he decided to treat them to some pastries. The brothers practically jumped right out their shoes when they ate them, exclaiming in shock how delicious they were. He was more than a little insulted that they were so surprised... Luckily the movie was showing around dinner time, so they could grab a bite to eat afterwards, before he showed them back to their hotel, and his duties as the host nation would be expertly completed.

He wouldn't have pegged the macaroni brothers for horror movie fans – Italian horror movies were more funny than scary. The movie was American, but based on a British book, so England was a little curious about it too. They got their overpriced popcorn and drinks, going into the dark theatre as the adverts played to the slowly gathering crowd. However, something went wrong somewhere, and England ended up sitting between the brothers. He was going to get up and move, but the previews started, what few lights were on extinguishing, and then it was just too awkward.

It seemed Italy and Romano were much like America when it came to horror movies, flinching and covering their eyes during the scary scenes, although they didn't scream as much. That was kind of unexpected, actually, considering what usually came out of their mouths. The movie was only okay, not at all scary in England's opinion, so mostly he was just bored, having finished his popcorn in the first act. He tried not to tap the arm of the chair, but it was difficult as the jump scares just kept coming.

Italy flinched particularly violently when the ghost flashed up (yet again, how droll), grabbing England's hand in his shock. The sudden contact made him flinch as well, but Italy didn't seem to notice, if anything gripping his hand tighter, eyes glued on the screen as the hero fought off the ghost in a dramatic fashion. England settled back down, going back to watching the film. Perhaps, in his terror, he had mistaken England's hand for the arm of the chair, or forgotten that he was sitting between the two brothers.

His chair arm theory was dismissed as the terrified nation started clawing at his fingers in an attempt to get a better grip on his hand, the other one over his mouth. With a sigh, England let him hold his hand – there was no harm in it. It was like watching a movie with America, only less suffocating. Italy seemed happy enough, squeezing his hand for support.

The movie finally ended. England had seen worse, but he wasn't going to be rushing out for the DVD either. As the lights went up, Romano started gobbing about what a predictable ending it was and how he saw it coming and all that jazz. As Italy turned to him to reply, he released for the first time that he wasn't holding his brothers hand. Horror crossed his face as he went deathly pale, eyes going a little wider than was natural. Since he didn't want the idiot to have a freak out in the middle of the cinema, England casually let go of his hand, standing up and grabbing his coat from the seat, agreeing with Romano.

* * *

Italy was freaking out a little bit. More than a little bit. Quite a lot, actually. He thought nothing of holding his big brothers hand during a scary movie, or Germany's hand, or Spain, France, or Prussia's, but England... he had never, in a million years, thought of holding Britains hand! Britain terrified him! Had he put a curse on his hand? Was he going to come after him?

He knew he shouldn't be afraid of England any more – it had been nearly 100 years since the last time they were at war – but what was 100 years to a nation? Britain was a rough character! The way he and France were always fighting... It was hard enough dealing with him without another person, like Germany or Japan, as a buffer, but knowing he had held his hand for a good 30 minutes made his guts feel all tense.

After the movie, he took the two to a gastropub for dinner, swearing the food at his place had improved, no matter what anyone said. Judging by their earlier lunch, the brothers had their doubts. However, British beer was very good (albeit warmer than they would have liked), which made the overcooked meat and bland roasted vegetables seem more palatable. By 9, they were all sick of the nicey-nicey diplomatic we're-all-friends routine, so England went to pay the bill.

"God, two more days of this shit." Romano groaned, loosening his tie "I don't see why we both have to take part in these circuses – it's not like we don't have work to do at home!"

"Look on the bright side." Italy suggested "At least we got to see the movie."

Romano huffed happily.

"I guess. You know, I swore you were going to grab my hand during the scary part." he said "But then I remembered England was sitting next to me – how awkward would that have been?"

"... I have to pee."

Italy jumped up and ran to the bathroom. Romano probably guessed why he was so awkward, snickering behind his back as he ran away. How embarrassing – perhaps if he apologised properly, England wouldn't curse him. The last thing Germany said to him was to be careful, he was going to be super mad about this. Feeling something behind him as he stood at the urinal, Italy looked around, spotting a large man. He waited, despite the fact that the other urinals were free...

"Ah, sorry, I won't be a minute." he apologised anyway.

The man smiled back, but not in a way Italy was comfortable with.

"Wow, you're really cute." the large man noted "What brings you here?"

"Um... I had to pee?"

"That's funny." the man laughed.

"It is?"

"I like your clothes." he went on "Very fancy. Italian?"

Abort mission. Red flag. Italy was incredibly uncomfortable, and decided it was time to get out of the situation. The large man, however, leaned over him, pinning him to the wall. He smiled greasily.

"You busy tonight, cutie?" he asked.

"Yes." Italy told him, hoping he sounded braver than he felt "And I'd like to leave now. My brother is waiting for me."

"Is he cute like you?" the large man asked "The three of us could-"

The man reached up, fingers brushing his hair curl. As a horrid shiver ran down Italy's spine, the large man was suddenly thrown aside, kicked to the ground. For a large man, he moved quickly, spinning around to fight back, but immediately went silent. England glared at him, foot still suspended in the air, giving him his best punk glare, hands in his pockets.

"Fuck off with that shit, obnoxious wanker." he growled "This is a respectable establishment. You wanna pull that shit, I know a nice lake to cool you off. Nice and deep. Catch my drift?"

It appeared he did, as the large man ran off, not even looking at England. As the bathroom door swung closed, the blond turned to Italy.

"You okay?" he asked.

Italy startled, as if he was forgotten he was a part of the situation. Britain had looked pretty cool for a moment there...

"Yes!" he reported "Sorry... thanks..."

"Sure." England answered "I guess you're used to Germany having you back, aren't you? You should be more assertive... feel free to put that away any time."

Italy practically burst into flames, realising his zip wasn't done up. He ran back to Romano to let England urinate in peace.

* * *

"Stop laughing!"

"C'mon, it's funny!"

"No it wasn't!"

Romano continued to laugh at him as he took off his shirt, getting ready for bed. Italy glared at him as he brushed his teeth.

"First you hold his hand, then he saves you from some creeper in the bathroom." Romano summarised "You better tell that potato bastard you got a new best friend, Veneziano." he snickered "He's gonna be crushed."

"You're awful, Romano." Italy sighed "It's embarrassing enough."

"Alright, alright, I'll stop." the older brother swore "But it's gonna be awkward tomorrow – just make sure you don't kiss him or he might fall in love with you."

Italy threw his toothbrush at his brother, who just laughed.

* * *

Italy knew he was dreaming – the atmosphere was too hazy and vague to be anything else – but at the same time he couldn't wake up, so was stuck in this weird situation. It was world war two again, and he had been captured by England, only he was wearing his leather punk jacket over his military uniform. His captor sat in a chair, arms and legs crossed, that evil smirk of his plastered on his face. Italy was knelt on the floor before him, arms tied behind his back, dog collar around his neck.

"This situation is really weird." he complained, conscious enough to recognise the oddness of his dream.

"What's weird about it?" England asked him "It's what you wanted."

"Eh?" Italy responded, surprised "No way, I would never ask for this: you scare me."

This seemed to make the dream England happy, as he smiled wider, uncrossing his arms and leaning forward.

"I scare you?" he purred.

Italy couldn't help but start shaking, the setting and the uniform bringing back the righteous fear he had of England at that time. England uncrossed his legs, kicking apart Italy's knees, and pressed the toe of his boot against his crotch.

"You like being scared, don't you?" he teased.

Italy's whole body lit up like a torch. He shuttered incoherently, shaking as his member started to rise, teased up by the pressure of England's foot. He was terrified, but at the same time... at the same time, it felt really, really good, and he wasn't sure he wanted it to stop. Britain laughed.

"You masochist."

He suddenly leapt forward, grabbing Italy's hair and forcing him down, onto his back. He started to get hot, in the best possible way, as his captor leaned over him. He somehow realised he was naked, which he hadn't been before (but that was the way of dreams), as England's gloved hands ran down his bare legs. He was still shaking, but no longer in fear, and England licked his lips.

"You like being scared?" he asked again "I know how to scare you."

"N-no." Italy stammered "I don't like being scared."

"Liar."

"It's true! I hate being scared!"

"This part of you says otherwise."

He grabbed Italy's engorged member, making him shiver in delight.

"N-not there!" he begged.

"Not here?" England teased on "Then where?"

England gave him a squeeze, moving his fingers provocatively. It felt so good. Italy ached his back, hips aching. He felt his whole body burn. He couldn't look at England, who continued to smirk, eyes cold and in charge.

"M-my hair." Italy breathed "Touch.. my hair."

"Hm?"

England responded exactly as Italy had wanted, grabbing his curl and twisting it in his fingers. The rest of his dream was a delirious haze of sensation, of touch and heat, something rough and deep, and a pain that tasted to sweet...

* * *

When Italy woke up, he remembered it distinctly. It took his waking brain a moment, but it all came flooding back, making his whole body go scarlet. A strangled cry of embarrassment and shock escaped his throat, causing Romano to look around the bathroom door.

"Veneziano?" he called "You okay?"

"Yes!" he replied too quickly and too loudly "I'm fine! I just... had a bad dream."

"Yeah, I know." Romano grumbled "It was so bad a heard you moaning about it at 3 in the morning! Stupid little brother."

Romano shut the bathroom door, leaving him alone. Italy sighed, tension draining from him. Why did he have to have a dream like that? How was he going to look England in the eye today? As he relived the dream in his waking mind, his body reacted – he could practically feel England's fingers digging into his skin, his teeth tauntingly brushing his neck, the force of his hair being pulled... he was bought back to the here and now was a towel was thrown roughly at his head.

"Go have a cold shower." Romano ordered "And kindly refrain from having a sex dream when we're sharing a room."

"Yeah... sorry."

* * *

Nothing more awkward than having to face someone the morning after having a naughty dream about them. How will Italy handle it? Hopefully in an interesting manner, or this won't be a very interesting story :P Please look forward to the next chapter!

All reviews greatly appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2 Remember to Breathe

It's funny, the things people respond to. Whenever I think 'people will like this story' I don't get much of a response on it, but whenever I think 'this won't be popular, but I've got an idea', readers seem to like it much more! Me deliberately not trying to make people happy seems to make them happy... Perhaps the world is just telling me to write what I want...

* * *

**Remember to Breathe.**

England was onto a winner with this one – those two were sure to enjoy going to the national gallery. Well, maybe the whiny one more than the loud one, but he honestly couldn't think of anything Romano liked, other than being obnoxious and pissing off Spain. Maybe he could work pissing off Spain in there somewhere...

He sighed, checking his watch as he waited for the two in the hotel lobby. These diplomatic meetings were such a pain in the arse, he could think of so many other things he could do with his time. At least the macaroni brothers seemed to be of the same opinion, so they could at least be professional about it. He kind of wished Germany was here to distract them – he didn't exactly enjoy watching people quake in fear of him all day. He wasn't even a scary person... was he? No way, those two were just ridiculous cowards. At least the Tate would distract them with pretty pictures. Ugh, where was he going to take them to eat today?

They appeared soon enough, dressed less formally than yesterday (but since their bosses weren't going to be around, who really cared?), Romano trying to pick a fight and Italy not rising to the bait. They both noticeably jolted when they saw him, as if they had forgotten for a moment that they were coming to meet him. They seemed to get over the shock quickly, however.

"Good Morning." Romano grumbled in his usual manner.

"Morning." England responded "Sleep well?"

"Not as good as Veneziano."

Romano grinned at Italy in the way only older brothers could, clearly teasing him over some inside joke. Had he had a dirty dream or what? It seemed he had, as poor Italy went very red indeed under their gaze. He looked at England a moment, very quickly looking away. Being the younger brother himself, England wasn't inclined to join in on the ribbing, especially so early in the morning.

"Do you two have any errands you need to run today?" he asked them "What I've got planned for us may take a while."

"Not me." Romano admitted.

"No." Italy agreed, shaking his head.

"Great. Get your walking shoes on."

* * *

As expected, Italy had much more fun than Romano, fluttering gleefully between the centuries old paintings, frescos and sculptures, examining every detail and breathlessly explaining how they were made. England was a little impressed – it was odd seeing Italy being so competent about something (although seeing him excited was fairly normal). Romano stomped around moodily, not at all interested in paintings, but not wanting to ruin what a good time his little brother was having. England just pottered about – it had been a while since he had been here himself, and they had changed things about a little.

Italy stopped at a large rubenesque nude, admiring the harsh red against the darker background.

"This painting is really charged." Italy said as England stood beside him "It really leaves me with the feeling of dread, like a nightmare."

"Well, yes." England agreed "The subject is the rape of Boadicea by the Romans, so it's pretty harrowing."

Italy's usual smile froze awkwardly, realising he was right.

"Ha, really?" he said "Yeah, the painter really captured the mood. Awkward."

He turned to Britain stiffly, still not looking him in the eye.

"Were you around back then?" he asked.

"Hardly." Britain answered "That was my mothers time. I might have been a baby, but I was too young to remember anything about it."

"Oh yeah? Probably for the best."

"Way before you were born, wasn't it?" England remembered.

"Yeah, that's when Grandpa was in his prime. Did you ever meet Grandpa?"

"Not that I remember – but I was very young at the time."

"Right. Of course, you just said..."

England looked away from the painting. Italy was kind of quiet today, when not talking about the art works, and seemed more awkward than scared. He wasn't pale or anything.

"Are you okay?" he asked.

Italy startled. He looked at England like he grown a second head. A blush spread over his cheeks as he looked at him, then startled at his own thoughts and looked at his shoes.

"Yes, I'm fine!" he flustered "Just fine!"

"You seem out of sorts." England noted.

"It's because the food here sucks."

Italy clamped his hand over his mouth. He did it so quickly that it made a popping sound, and England burst out laughing. Italy gave him the same look again, not sure how to react. Moving on to check on Romano, England punched Italy playfully on the bonce.

"Idiot."

* * *

Italy splashed the cold water on his face – he couldn't cool down. Every time he looked at England he had flashes of last nights dream, some more vivid than others, and felt his ears were permanently burning. He hoped it wasn't obvious, but knew that subtlety wasn't his strong point. The again, picking up on things wasn't exactly Englands. Towelling his face dry, he checked out his reflection in the mirror: he wasn't too red. He could still feel where England had bopped him on the head, and ran his fingers over the area.

Snapping back to his senses, he shook his head, smoothed out his hair, and after checking his reflection one more time, went back into the gallery. Romano was looking annoyed, leaning against the alabaster walls with his arms crossed. Italy knew that he didn't like places like this (he was still sore about that fact that he couldn't draw as well as his little brother), but he really loved galleries and museums, and it wasn't a bad thing to be selfish every now and again. It was kind of nice that Britain had put so much thought into where to take him today...

No, bad Italy! Stop thinking like that! Spotting Italy coming, Romano forced his face to look less annoyed, standing straight and putting his hands in his pockets.

"Having fun?" the older brother asked.

"Yeah, I haven't seen some of these paintings in centuries!" Italy admitted "And there are some Victorian and early 20th century paintings that I haven't seen before, so it's really exciting!"

Romano smiled, laughing through his nose.

"Okay." he sighed "Where next, Da Vinci?"

"There are three more rooms I want to see." Italy compromised "After that, how about we go do something you like? I'm sure England knows some good antique shops, or we could go for a drive in the countryside? We could go to the coast!"

"It's a little late for that." Romano figured, looking at his watch "I wouldn't mind going to Dorset, though. You think Britain would be up for that tomorrow?"

"It wouldn't hurt to ask. Hey, where is Britain?"

"Taking a phone call." Romano shrugged "He went back to the entranceway."

"I'll just let him know where we're going."

"Whatever."

Romano took out his phone and started fiddling. Italy dashed as fast as one could in such a labyrinthine gallery to the entranceway, spotting England's messy thatch of hair amongst the milling crowd. His back and shoulders were tense, like he was talking to someone he didn't like. France, maybe? If he was annoyed, then Italy wasn't going to hang around. He was just going to tell him which room they were going to and run away.

He didn't notice the people edging away from England, who started to tap his foot in frustration.

"England-"

"WELL, I'LL TELL YOU WHAT I THINK ABOUT THAT, YOU MUPPET!" England roared, startling poor Italy so much he practically jumped out of his shoes "I THINK THAT'S THE MOST RETARDED THING I'VE HEARD ALL WEEK, AND I SPENT MONDAY WITH ACTUAL RETARDS! YOU'RE A SELF SERVING TOSSER AND I HOPE THE QUEENS CORGIS HUMP YOUR LEG!"

Holy shit! Italy's heart was racing. Sure, England yelled all the time at meetings, but everyone else was so loud that it didn't really stand out. On its own, his shouting voice was terrifying. He still had his back to Italy, but he could imagine his snarling expression, green eyes furious... fuck, there went memories of last nights dream again. He started to feel hot once more, tugging his shirt down self-consciously as his body reacted against his will.

"YOUR POLICIES ARE POISONOUS AND RIDICULOUS!" England went on, oblivious to everything else "YOU EVEN CONSIDER THIS BULLSHIT AND I'LL SEE TO IT THAT YOU NEVER WORK IN WESTMINSTER AGAIN!" he hung up the phone, pressing the button almost hard enough to break it "Wanker."

He finally turned around. Italy's imagination had been correct – those bright green eyes were shining with fury, brows knotted. Fuck, he was cute and fierce...

"Oh!" he startled, not having realised Italy was there "Sorry about that, just a bit of back-of-house stuff. Where did you want to go next?"

England pulled a concerned face, previous aggression disappearing. He reached up and put his hand on Italy's forehead.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked "You're bright red."

Italy squeaked. By the time he realised he wasn't breathing, he was already blacking out.

* * *

He woke up slowly. It was warm, and there was something heavy and cosy on top of him. There were wonderful smells here, like preserved flowers, warm tea and home cooking. It was nice, not at all like a hotel...

That realisation made him wake up fully – sure enough, this wasn't his hotel room, but definitely the bedroom of someone's home. A very comfortable, very lived in home. England's? Italy sat up, the back of his head suddenly aching from where it had smacked against the marble floor. He could hear the radio down the hall, so someone must be home.

Hang on... had he fainted? Oh dear lord, he had fainted! Romano was going to freak out! Germany was never going to let him hear the end of it! He tried to bury his head in the eiderdown out on shame, but the back of his head hurt so sharply and so suddenly that it made him gasp. The radio down the hall went off. Italy's heart skipped a little. After a second the bedroom door, left ajar, creaked open, Britain popping his head inside.

"Italy?" he called softly.

"Hi." he replied shakily, trying again to bury his head.

England opened the door fully, flicking on the light and coming over to sit on the side of the bed.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Where's my brother?" Italy responded.

"He's gone shopping – he thinks the food here made you faint. I think he's an idiot, so no new opinions were formed today."

Italy snorted, but laughing made his head hurt. He flinched a little as England laid his hand on the back of his bare neck.

"You don't have a fever." he noted "Do you feel dizzy at all?"

"A little." Italy admitted.

"You feel like you need a doctor?"

"No, I'll be okay. This is probably my own fault."

England rubbed his back in a reassuring manner. He was actually pretty gentle. He had never let England get close enough to him to know before. It was nice.

"Regardless of the reason, you still fainted, so don't push yourself." England ordered "Romano and I can finish up the official stuff, so take it easy."

"Sure, thanks."

"I'll get you a drink."

England moved to get up, but Italy grabbed a pinch of his shirt. As embarrassed as he was, gentle England was something he had never experienced before, and was sure to disappear as soon as Romano got back. England picked up on the hint, sitting back down, and didn't complain when Italy leant against him. The younger nations heart skipped a beat when the other put his arms around him gently.

"Wow, you must be sick." he teased "You're not scared of me at all today."

"Sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about – I really don't like that kind of thing, you know."

"What's that?"

"You two still being scared of me." England elaborated "I get that you're cowards, but this is peacetime. You have even less excuse than your brother, considering how close you are to Germany!"

Italy chuckled. England smelled good, and was warm: it was difficult not to snuggle into him.

"Germany can be scary when he yells." Italy conceded "But if you listen, what he's saying is always kind."

"Is that so?" Britain grumbled "Sorry I'm not always kind."

"Can I ask you something?"

"Hm? Sure, I guess."

"What were you doing Monday?"

"Monday?"

"When you were on the phone before, you mentioned it."

"Oh, that." England recalled "You know my place has a comprehensive social health system – that includes developmental and learning conditions. With all the austerity measures and cost cutting going on, there's been some concern over the quality of our sheltered accommodation, so I went to some hospitals to check it out. I guess I shouldn't call them 'retards', though." he sighed "I remember when that word wasn't an insult."

Italy chuckled – people who had their shit together really impressed him. Knowing that Britain went to hospitals to make sure people were being treated properly definitely made him seem less scary. That being said, he didn't want to be whoever he was yelling at on the phone. That was kind of scary... 'scary' wasn't meaning the same thing to him these days, though. He bought his knees up to his chest, hoping it would hide the part of his body that didn't appreciate the 'time and place' rule.

England checked his temperature again.

"Is there anything you want?" he asked "Glass of water? Cup of tea? Your brother is insisting on making dinner, but if you want a sandwich-"

"There is something I want." Italy admitted.

He sat up straight, realising it was chilly now that England's arms weren't around him. Said England waited patiently while he found the courage.

"I want to... to improve our diplomatic relations."

Britain's face lit up like a mountain at Christmas, ears burning particularly bright. As euphemisms go it was a subtle one, but one the nations were well acquainted with. Britain flustered a moment, but composed himself by clearing his throat.

"So, that's what got you flustered." he said diplomatically "Our official relationship isn't so bad that you need to do something like that. You shouldn't let your boss bully you into doing those kinds of things, especially to the point that it makes you faint."

Italy was disheartened, but he could understand why England would think that – it wasn't unheard of, and if it had been the case then Italy would have been relieved to be rebuffed.

"What makes you think I'm being bullied into it?" he asked.

England looked pissed off, looking down his nose at him.

"Because, why would you want to sleep with someone that terrifies you?" he pointed out.

Down the long hall, they heard the door slam open and closed again, Romano swearing about the weather and the traffic and the cost of the ingredients. After thundering into the kitchen, he ran up the stairs to the bedroom.

"Veneziano!" he called, still wearing his coat "You're awake! How are you feeling? Are you sick? What happened?!"

Britain stood suddenly, startling them both.

"I'll leave you alone." he offered "Get some rest, okay?"

The brothers watched him leave, not saying anything until he closed the door behind him. Romano was on him immediately, checking his temperature, measuring his pulse, looking at his pupils.

"What the hell happened back there?!" he demanded "One minute you're fine, the next you're out like a light and it took us ten minutes to find a damn black cab to get you home! Do you have any idea how worried I was?!"

"Romano..." Italy growled.

He grabbed his brother by the ear, giving it a tug.

"Cock block me again and I'll cut off Spain's tackle with a rusty knife." he swore.

Romano just picked up the pillow beside him, pushing it into his brothers face like he was smothering him.

"Don't act like you have a cock to block, _little_ brother!" he retorted immediately.

They stayed like that a few seconds, struggling against each other, but Italy was the first to give in, releasing his brothers ear and being pushed back onto the mattress, laughing while still having a pillow over his face.

"You must be feeling better if you're well enough to joke around." Romano snickered, finally taking the pillow away "You had me worried, idiot."

"Sorry." Italy said again "I guess I had a weird turn."

"You're weird enough without having turns." the older brother teased "Do you want to go home? I'm sure the potato man wouldn't mind taking care of you if you're really sick."

"I'll be okay."

"You sure? I can take care of things here."

Italy sat up, straightening out his hair. He didn't want to admit to his brother that he had fainted because he had accidentally held his breath too long.

"It's fine." he assured "Besides, we're going to Dorset tomorrow, right?"

"To hell with Dorset!" Romano swore "You cracked your head on a marble floor today, you moron! You're staying in bed until I'm sure you don't have a concussion! Not that I'm entirely sure that there's anything in that empty head to bruise."

"Meanie."

"We'll go to Dorset another time." he promised "Some time when we're not working. We came here because I wanted to use England's kitchen – his cooking may be wretched, but he's got all the gear, and I didn't think the hotel would let me use theirs. If you want, we can go back to the hotel after dinner."

"That's okay, it's kind of nice here. It's very homely."

Romano shot his brother a look that was hard to read. After making sure the younger brother was comfortable, he went back to the kitchen to finish making dinner.

* * *

Britain wasn't overly thrilled that the macaroni brothers were staying in his house tonight, but you couldn't be too careful with a head injury. And since the two of them slept in the same bed, he would only have to launder one set of sheets, so he had to look on the bright side. He didn't think badly of Italy for his unexpected request earlier – he knew how unreasonable nations bosses could be, just expecting them to have sex with no regard for their personal feelings – but it did make dinner a little awkward.

It felt good to finally have some quiet time – those two were so loud, it was unreal. Freshly bathed, England sat in his comfy chair in his bedroom, distracted from finishing putting on his pyjamas by the evening paper. Other than the reassuring steady sound of the ticking clock, everything was silent. Those macaroni brothers better not snore. Without so much as a knock, the door to his bedroom creaked open, immediately irking him.

Italy poked his head into the room. Seeing England glaring at him, he backed away a little.

"Sorry to disturb you." he said quietly.

"Saying goodnight?" Britain asked, more of a suggestion than a question.

Taking a quick glance back down the hall to the room where his brother was sleeping, Italy slipped inside and closed the door behind him. Fuck, he wasn't going to just go to bed, was he? It was especially concerning that he appeared to be naked, one of the house blankets draped over his body to protect his modesty. It took him a moment to remember that Mediterranean's usually slept naked – it wasn't something he would recommend here, though.

"I wanted to talk to you." Italy told him, skipping over lightly and sitting on his bed "I figured that since you don't want me to be scared of you, you're probably not all that scary, right?"

"Nice theory."

Britains eyes went back to his paper, intentionally trying to be rude so he could be left alone for a while. He didn't notice Italy tilt his head to the side, checking out his bare torso.

"Hey, Britain?"

"Hm?"

"About earlier: I meant what I said."

"It's not going to happen, Italy." he promised coldly "Go to bed."

This actually seemed to annoy the young nation, as he stood up, took the paper from England and sat in his lap, much to his surprise.

"Why not?" he asked "I promise you, no-one's making me do this. I really do want you. It's not like it's love or anything, but I can't get you out of my head lately. Do you not like me? Can you not do it unless you're in love with your lover?"

"Neither of those is the problem." Britain sighed.

"Then what is?"

Britain ground his teeth. Was this kid really that stupid? How nice it must be to be so oblivious! He knew from experience that Italy was dense, so he probably wouldn't understand from words alone. There was no way around it...

Britain grabbed the body on his lap, forcing a rough kiss on him. Italy flinched a moment, but quickly got into it. It didn't take long before Britain go the reaction he expected – his whole slim body started to shiver and quake, drowning as he couldn't keep up with Britains experience. The blond lifted him, throwing him onto the bed and tossing the blanket aside. It wasn't quite enough yet. He grabbed the shivering nations knees, forcing them apart, and placed himself between them, leaning over him.

Italy was breathing was very hard, eyes wide, hands clutching the duvet desperately. Britain started kissing his neck, biting it gently as he ran a hand down Italy's chest. A sudden sob escaped Italy's throat, and Britain stopped, sitting back up.

Tears were streaming down Italy's face. He was shaking like a leaf, eyes wide and terrified. Britain just wiped the tears from his face.

"You say no-one's forcing you, and that may be the truth," he said "But do you honestly think I can make love to someone to shakes in fear a the sight of me? You think I can hold you when just this much leaves you like this? I don't know what kind of man you think I am, but this isn't it."

Britain got back to his feet, gently taking Italy's knees and pushing them back together.

"Go to bed, Italy." he said "You should feel better in the morning."

He turned around, picking his paper up off the floor and putting it neatly on the table. Not hearing any movement behind him, he looked around: Italy sat at the head of the bed, arms around his knees, looking like he wanted to cry. It was hard being young, wasn't it? He sniffed, wiping the emergent tears from his eyes.

"The Britain in my dream was much more forceful." he muttered.

"Well, I'm not him." Britain pointed out.

"You're right." Italy admitted, looking at him a little "In my dream I wasn't scared, even when it hurt. In my dream it was exciting and made my heart race. Now I can't stop shaking."

Ah, shit... Britain wanted to comfort him, but he was sure anything he said or did would make it worse. At a loss, he handed him back the blanket. Italy looked at him warily a moment, then took it, finally getting off the bed. He wrapped it back around himself as he walked to the door, the host showing him out. He stopped at the open door.

"Britain?"

"Hm?"

Italy turned around quickly, kissing England lightly on the lips. The Brit was so shocked that he didn't move, letting Italy end it in his own time.

"I like you more than that dream England." he told him "The England that stopped because I was scared."

"Well, what was I supposed to do?" Britain snapped "Idiot."

Italy smiled, bid him goodnight, and went to bed. Britain locked the door behind him.

* * *

Has anyone else ever used 'improving diplomatic relations' as a euphemism before? I can't imagine it working in real life, but it suits Hetalia quite nicely!

And Italy, get your act together! So impulsive... Britain may be the erotic ambassador, but he's not the type to take advantage.

So there's only one chapter left - will Italy get over his fear of England and get some of the British booty? Find out next chapter! All reviews welcome as always!


	3. Chapter 3 Fun to Tease

So, this is the last chapter. I never had any long-term stories in mind for this pair, but who knows - I may get inspired again some day. I'll never get used to writing the kind of things I wrote at the end of the chapter, though...

* * *

**Fun to Tease.**

Romano was upset – he really had wanted to see the coast, but he couldn't ignore the fact that Italy had fainted yesterday. He said he was fine, but it was best not to take chances. Far too hot under that ridiculously thick duvet, Romano got up early and went to make breakfast, leaving Italy sleeping. He had been behaving a little weird since they got here – had he picked something up? Or maybe things in the north had taken a sudden unexplained downturn, making him sick? Being a nation was so unnecessarily complicated.

As he walked down the stairs, he saw Britain march moodily from the other side of the hall, fiddling with his tie and scowling.

"Put your shirt and tie on." he grumbled "The bosses are coming."

"What the hell for?!" Romano groaned theatrically.

"They heard about Italy's fall, they're coming to check on him." Britain sighed "They still don't understand the connection between a nations body and a nations land, so they're freaking out."

"Just what I fucking needed." he mumbled, turning around and marching right back up the stairs.

* * *

"My boss is just overreacting." Italy assured "I really am fine."

"You don't sound fine." Germany noted on the other end of the phone "Are you eating well? I did tell you to dress warmly over there. Even if you don't like the food, you still have to eat."

Italy chuckled – Germany was such a worry wart.

"I have been eating." he assured "Romano made dinner last night, and I ate a lot! It is kinda cold, but Britains house is full of blankets and throws, so it's fine."

"I can't help but be concerned about the reason you fainted. It's not like you hit your head or held your breath again."

Italy pursed his lips: Germany knew him so well... On the other side of the phone, he heard him groan in exasperation.

"You held your breath." he knew.

"Well yes, but this time it was a total accident!"

"How do you accidentally hold your breath until you faint?!" Germany yelled at him "That's a whole new level of air-headed!"

"Haha, sorry."

"Don't laugh!"

Germany sighed, and Italy could hear the shuffling of papers on the other end of the phone. He felt guilty that this had interrupted his important work, but how like Germany to still call even though he was busy.

"So, what made you hold your breath?" he asked, clearly now more annoyed than worried "Did someone eat spaghetti bolognese in your presence? Was there a flying bug in the room?"

"No, nothing like that." Italy laughed again "Like I said, it was an accident: Britain was on the phone yelling at someone, and it was kind of scary."

"Please don't make trouble for him." Germany requested "He has trouble dealing with people as it is."

"He does?" he chuckled.

"Of course." he answered like it was obvious "He didn't have friends for hundreds of years. Islands typically end up a little socially stunted."

Thinking about it, all the islands he knew were a little like that – Japan, Iceland... it must be hard being an island nation. Lonely too. Was Britain lonely?

"When I think about it, you and he are kind of similar." Italy supposed.

Germany paused.

"Should I be insulted?"

"Not at all." Italy laughed "I'm just thinking that you're only really scary from a distance. Up close, you're both pretty nice."

"You already caused him trouble, didn't you?" he knew.

"Maybe a little."

"You're incorrigible." Germany sighed "Are you at least going to tell your brother why you fainted?"

"No way, I'll never hear the end of it."

"As well you shouldn't, idiot."

Italy was glad Germany didn't pry as to exactly how he had 'troubled' England: it would have been awkward for him to admit, and even more to explain. Embarrassing as it was, he was glad England had told him 'no' yesterday: he thought his fear of him wasn't that strong, he hadn't expected to start shaking and crying like that. He supposed it was more obvious to England than it was to him, which had turned out to be a good thing: if he hadn't stopped yesterday, he doubted the situation would have felt the way it did in his dream. England was a pretty good person.

The two bid each other goodbye, hanging up. England's house was nice, but it was always awkward being alone in an unfamiliar place. He hoped the two of them weren't going to be too much longer.

* * *

England closed the front door behind the retreating delegation. The second the door clicked closed, his professional smile disappeared, replaced by a grimace of barely concealed aggression.

"Tossers." he spat.

"They weren't even worried about Veneziano!" Romano agreed "They just wanted to snoop on us, those bastards!"

"I hate the current political climate with the passion of a thousand red hot suns." Britain complained, pulling off his tie "We're all friends, but don't you dare hang out outside of official engagements! The world is so much smaller, but don't you dare drop the formality with people you've known hundreds, even over a thousand years!"

"Quit venting on me, bushybrows." Romano retorted "But yeah, you're right – those bastards don't even want me to be friends with Spain any more, just because he's broke... not like we spent hundreds of years together, or anything..."

England looked back at Romano, ruffling the discomfort out of his freshly brushed hair. The younger nation looked upset, eyes far away. Things were pretty tough for England at the moment, but it must be tougher for nations on the continent, having to be both friend and enemy to their neighbours and even their family. Things were somehow simpler when they were at war...

"It's all history to them." he said, trying to be comforting "How about I make us some breakfast?"

"Absolutely not!" Romano shrieked, hair standing on end like a hissing cat "My brother's already picked up some kind of horrible disease, the last thing he needs is food poisoning too!"

"You really piss me off, you know that?"

* * *

Romano refused to let his brother help cook, still thinking some unknown illness had made him faint. He couldn't bear to admit the truth, or else he'd be taunted his whole life for being too stupid to breathe. With nothing else to do, he wandered around England's home, taking in the classic style and the hundreds of nicknack's and photographs and paintings on every wall and surface.

Actually, there were a whole lot of photographs for such a solitary person. With little investigation, he saw that most of them were of young nations, back when they still looked like children: more specifically, they were England's children, his ex-colonies that had since become nations. Britain was a nostalgic father? Italy had never expected that. It was really sweet. There were old needleworks, crude drawings and faded, hand written letters in frames. He had kept these things his kids had made for him.

The more Italy looked around his house, the less scary Britain seemed. They had never really been friends, so he had never spent time with him outside of an official capacity. If he had known back during the world wars that he had his kids baby booties all lined up on a shelf in his living room, he probably wouldn't have been so afraid of him... or maybe more afraid, it was hard to tell...

In the kitchen Romano was still putting together lunch, so Italy decided to find England. He had come to a decision overnight – if England didn't want him to be afraid of him, then he wasn't going to be. It may take a little practice, but he'd make it work. He'd hate it if someone was afraid of him. He found England in his study, rubbing the bridge of his nose as he spoke on the old fashioned landline phone.

"Australia, give your brother back his sheep." he ordered paternally "One of the perks of being a parent is that I honestly don't care who started it... That's because Wy is more mature than you... no, being a girl has nothing to do with it... no, I don't like New Zealand more than you... Stop trying to distract me and give your brother back his sheep!"

Cutie... Not having been spotted yet, Italy perched himself on the chair by the door, put his head in his hands, and listened.

* * *

Since today was their last day in the country, Romano went back to the hotel to pack up their things. He wasn't at all happy leaving his ailing (as far as he knew) brother with 'that scary bastard', but didn't want to drag him around London either. Since it meant he got some alone time with England, Italy didn't complain. Playing up to being sick, he sat with England on the big plushy sofa, wrapped up in a blanket as some film that he wasn't really paying attention to played on the television. Britain read the newspaper, completely focused on the printed words to the point that he didn't notice Italy staring at him. He wandered if that messy blond hair felt as coarse as it looked...

He was distracted as the living room doors were clumsily pushed open, an overweight cat sauntering in. It walked up to England's feet, meowing loudly, so he looked over his paper at it.

"It's not your dinner time." he told it "Go catch a mouse or something."

The cat just looked at him, as cats are wont to do, and flopped down on his feet, purring happily. Britain scowled at it.

"Useless animal." he sighed, going back to his paper without any attempt to move the cat off his slippers.

"I didn't know you had a cat." Italy pointed out.

"Hm? Oh yes, I found it abandoned as a kitten." he explained "I thought it'd be good to catch mice, but, well..."

He lowered his paper again, looking at his feet. The cat purred loudly, flicking its tail, but didn't move.

"How do they always end up like this?" Britain sighed.

'Always'? Britain always spoiled animals? That was so adorable, Italy felt his ears get hot, trying desperately to hide his smile. Italy was cute too, so... taking a cue from the cat, he plopped himself against Britain, wrapping his arms around his and nuzzling to get comfortable. He felt Britain go a little stiff.

"What are you doing?" he asked unsurely, brows knotted in confusion.

Italy looked at him, putting on his cutest smile.

"Meow."

Britain's head exploded, going red as a tomato, and Italy could practically see the steam coming from his ears. He was so fun to tease! No wonder France did it so much. Britain flustered, stuttering, before burying himself in his paper again.

"You're preposterous!" he huffed.

"Meow!" Italy said again, hardly able to stop himself giggling.

"Stop that!"

"Meow!"

Britain turned to yell at him, but Italy monopolized, quickly planting a kiss on him. The Brit just stared at him a moment, speechless, before an uncomfortable blush spread over his face.

"I... you really are determined, aren't you?"

"Yup!" Italy confirmed.

"...I don't understand you."

"That's okay." he assured "Because I'm starting to understand you."

Italy just smiled at his confused expression. With a gentle laugh, he sat back, nuzzling Britain's shoulder to get comfortable, and read the paper with him.

* * *

Britain sighed, shuffling his bag from one arm to the other as he walked. To his left, America talked non-stop about this and that and the other thing, and to his right France preened and laughed and declared his superiority. (He also has a vague sense of someone else being there, but couldn't put his finger on who). He tried not to lose his temper at them, but it was increasingly difficult. These conferences were so annoying, and he was always trapped between people who pissed him off! Just as his well of patience finally ran dry and he opened his mouth to give them his two pence worth, he was slammed into by a sleight, but determined form.

"Britain!" Italy greeted, practically singing as he threw his arms around him "You're finally here! I'm so glad to see you!"

England was suddenly very aware that everyone was staring at him, and he could understand why. He patted Italy's back self consciously.

"I only spoke to you yesterday." he pointed out.

"Eh?" Italy asked, releasing him from the hug but keeping his arms around him "Was it only yesterday?"

"Eeeh?" France teased "When did you and my little Italy get so close, England?"

"Dude, I didn't know you guys were friends!" America agreed.

"It feels like forever ago!" Italy ignored them "Kiss me!"

"Absolutely not."

Everyone around them burst out laughing as Italy tried to solicit a kiss from England, who tried desperately to push him away. Germany looked uncomfortable, like he wanted to stop Italy from making a fool of himself, but somehow managed to contain himself.

"Dude, don't be cold!" America laughed "It's just how they say hello! Even I know that!"

"England is so prudish!" France knew "Anything more than a brief handshake is too much for him!"

Seeing the opportunity for hijinks, France grabbed Britain's hands, hoisting them behind his back so he couldn't fight Italy off. He seemed to think it was hilarious until Italy kissed him not on the cheek as was customary, but full on the mouth, arms around his neck. No-one was laughing then. The only one not surprised (other than the two involved) was Germany, who just sighed in embarrassment. Italy finally released Britain's lips, but not his neck.

"I missed you!" he sung "Did you miss me?"

"How can I miss you if you never go away?!" Britain snapped "Five phone calls a day, presents and letters every other day! I've heard more of your voice lately than my own!"

"Somebody's grumpy." Italy teased "Did you not have your tea yet?"

Italy finally released his neck, grabbing his hand and pulling him away from France and America, humming happily. The few nations gathered just stared in disbelief as Britain only slightly pulled against him.

"Now see here, release me at once!" he protested anyway "We're here for official business, I don't have time for your shenanigans!"

"I'll see you tomorrow, Germany!" Italy declared, waving goodbye to his friend.

"Don't make England late for the meeting." he ordered in response.

"Italy!" England continued to scold as he was pulled away from the crowd, through the doors of the hotel and towards the lifts "This kind of carry on in a public arena is simply unacceptable!"

The doors to the lift opened, Italy pulling him inside. Realising they were alone in the lift, Italy pinned England to the wall.

"Shut up." he ordered, planting another kiss on him.

He only stopped when the lift did, again pulling England out by the hand. The blond stumbled after him uncertainly.

"Did you really have to kiss me in front of everyone?" he asked.

"Yes." Italy answered as if it was obvious, stopping briefly to look back at him "How else will I mark my territory?"

"Y-you! Terri... me... I... well I never!"

Italy chuckled, pulling a key from his pocket.

"Romano and I aren't sharing a room this time." he informed England, winking just in case his hint was too subtle.

"After what happened last time, you're sure that's a good idea?" Britain challenged, feeling himself get hot.

Coming to the door, Italy let go of Britain's hand long enough to unlock it, bizarrely silently. Just as England was starting to get worried about it, Italy turned back to him. His face was red from ear to ear, eyes shining.

"It's not a case of 'good idea' or not." he said "I think I might actually explode if we don't."

Not giving Britain any time to argue, Italy grabbed him by the tie, pulled him into the room and slammed the door shut.

* * *

Italy was in heaven: England wasn't the 'erotic ambassador' for nothing. What little Italy could remember of the dream of months ago disappeared entirely under the reality of England's touch, both hot and sweet, gentle and forceful when necessary. Italy still shook, but not a single quiver was in fear, none of his cries in terror. Not a single part of him was scared anymore – who could be scared of England, who was so fun to tease, who always answered the phone no matter how much he complained about it, who was so lovably awkward?

Italy couldn't get enough – enough kisses, enough touches, enough of the sharp, sweet pleasure deep inside him. It consumed him, and he was determined to consume England right back. There was no doubt – reality was so much better than any dream. The sun hadn't even set when they fell panting, spent, onto the bedsheets, their sweat so mingled that it became one scent. Exhausted, England all but collapsed onto Italy below him, who gripped him tightly.

"E-England?" he panted.

"Yeah?"

"I'm scared."

"Scared?"

England went to get up, but Italy squeezed him tighter, forcing him to stay put.

"I'm scared to let you go." he whined.

Britain could only laugh.

"Idiot." he teased "You're lucky you're cute."

"I am cute." Italy agreed "Kiss me."

Italy released Britain only just enough to allow him to do that, moaning as Britain started teasing his hair.

No-one saw either of them until the next morning.

* * *

Excuse me, I must glue my head back together, as it just exploded in embarrassment upon the realisation that someone's just read that...

So, that's kind of how I imagine this ship going. Italy's such a coward, I think he would definitely be the instigator for it to work. He would definitely win England over, though, if only by attrition!

(And apparently spaghetti bolognese, as it's known here in England, is some kind of abomination to Italians. Can anyone elaborate on this?).

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this short story. All reviews, as ever, are welcome!


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